Of Hearts and Flowers
by Rochester'sJane
Summary: Jaime Lannister slid his arms around his lady and drew her back into his chest. He tilted his head to the side and purred into her ear. "I know today is not your nameday, my love. Today is St. Valentine's Day, and this is my gift to you." My very first fanfiction-finally! If you like it, please review and let me know! If you don't, read something else! I own nothing, of course.
1. Chapter 1: Of Blood and Septons

**Chapter 1: Of Blood and Septons**

"Oh, Jaime! It's remarkably beautiful—but this is not my nameday!"

Jaime Lannister slid his arms around his lady and drew her back into his chest. He tilted his head to the side and purred into her ear. "I know today is not your nameday, my love. Today is St. Valentine's Day, and this is my gift to you." He punctuated his words with a nip to her earlobe.

Brienne turned in his arms to face him, her gift held in her hand at her side. "What in Westeros is St. Valentine's Day?"

"Tyrion told me about it—several hundred years ago, in one of the lands far across the sea, some rogue septon named Valentinus secretly married Kingsguardsmen to their ladies. He paid a bloody price for his kind disobedience."

"It is the same everywhere, isn't it? We all pay a bloody price, sooner or later. Especially the more we love." Brienne sighed. "I wish I knew what the purpose of it all was—why the Gods toy with us so."

Jaime used his remaining fingers to tip up her chin, so he could look straight into her clear blue eyes. "I have never pretended to spend any serious time contemplating the wills of the Gods—but I know this—love, true love—what I feel for you—is well worth a bloody price." He captured her lips, snaking his arms around her tighter. She began to resist out of habit but then succumbed, melting into him as much as she could as they were both of a like height and stature, and for a while, martyred septons and bloody prices drifted out of both of their minds, chased away by the very real and present heat and strength and assuredness of their embrace.

"Ow, wench! Watch where you're poking that thing!" Jamie spoke through his kiss as Brienne's new bejeweled golden dagger, still in her hand, pricked his thigh.

"I could say the same to _you_, ser—and your weapon is so much more dangerous."

Jaime laughed. His wench was becoming saucier by the day and he positively loved it. He caught up her right wrist with his left hand, twisting slightly so the offending blade wouldn't accidently castrate him. With his right arm he pulled tighter Brienne's body into his own, forcing her to feel the steel of his weapon against her center. He lowered his voice to the lustful, quiet register he knew made her legs weak. "I plan to show you just how dangerous my blade can be, my love—but later. Right now, I have more St. Valentine's Day gifts for you—"

"But, Jaime—"

"No protests, my lady. Soon enough we will have to pay more bloody prices. Today, at least, we are going to commemorate that old septon's sacrifice and enjoy each other's love. By the Gods, we are going to have ourselves some bloody _fun_." And with that, Jamie Lannister smirked cockily, kissed Brienne fully on the mouth once more, and releasing her, headed for the door.

"Where are you going? I thought you just said we were going to have fun?"

"We are," he said, his hand on the iron doorpull. "But this next portion of the day is a gift for you to revel in alone. Through that door I've had a bath prepared for you, and as much as I'd love to watch your perfect naked body get wet and warm—" he paused and swallowed, as images of a nude Brienne lounging in steaming, soapy water presented themselves in his brain. He cleared his throat. "I'm leaving. Just for a while. I've things to do. When I come back, you won't be able to get rid of me—no matter how much you might beg—and, make no mistake—" he said, winking, "I fully intend to hear you beg tonight." Jaime quickly opened the door, exited, and shut it again, leaving Brienne standing in the solar, a bit bewildered and flushed from all the heavy kissing and suggestive words.

The Lady of Tarth crossed to the large window and looked out over the sunny, changing landscape. She held up her new dagger and turned it in her hands, watching the large heart-shaped deep blue sapphires and dark red garnets embedded in the golden hilt shine in the autumn light. The blade itself was forged of blue and red precious metals that twisted around a solid core of gleaming dragonglass. Suddenly, Brienne shivered, unsure of the exact reason. Perhaps it was the sight of the dragonglass that elicited her physical response, indicating that her newly-found happiness was fated to be short-lived. Perhaps it was simply the crisp air from the window that made her shiver, reminding her that, regardless, she needed to get out of her clothes. Her garments were still damp with the exertion from her and Jaime's early-morning training session in the yard. Jaime had presented her with the gift upon helping each other out of their armor.

Brienne snapped out of her reverie at the sound of the door to the bathing chamber opening. "Your bath is ready, my lady," curtseyed a young slip of a maid. The scent of sweet milk and rose petals drifted out of the steamy room. Brienne shyly smiled, gently placed the dagger on the windowsill, and crossed into the bathroom.


	2. Chapter 2: Of Beauty and Roses

**Chapter 2: Of Beauty and Roses **

Brienne shed her clothing and stepped gingerly into the large tub, quietly displacing a floating carpet of fresh rose petals in scarlet, pink, and ivory hues. Tendrils of steam twisted up from the water's milky surface. Brienne took a deep breath and eased herself down into the bath. The heat of the water made her gasp, and her feet burned cold, her body reacting to the shock of the temperature change. She sunk down until the water lapped up to her chin, submerged herself, and resurfaced, whisking away droplets out of her eyes and smoothing back her wispy blond hair. Brienne leaned back with her head on the edge of the tub and closed her eyes. She opened them quickly and tensed as she felt soft hands gently lift her head and slip a fluffy rolled towel behind her neck. "It's all right, my lady. Just making you more comfortable."

The maidservant's little hands eased Brienne's head back into place. "Oh," Brienne murmured, and breathed deeply again.

The sound of a stool scraped the floor as the maid seated herself behind Brienne's head. "I am going to wash your hair now, my lady, if it please you."

Brienne's eyes fluttered open again, mildly discomfited. "Oh—um—I can do that. You needn't trouble yourself."

"'Tis no trouble, my lady. Ser Jaime said you were to have a right proper highborn ladies' washing-up. He said that if you argued, I'm to tell you that this is also part of his gift."

Brienne wanted to be irritated, but gave up. She didn't want to spoil it for Jaime—he derived such glee from having his expectations go as planned_. That's one way I know that I love him,_ she thought. _I care more about hurting his feelings than I do about preventing my own discomfort. _ "All right, Joenna. I will behave myself and do as Ser Jaime wishes—only, if he asks you, please tell him I fought harder than this."

Joenna smiled. "Of course, my lady. Now, please relax and tip your head back a bit." Brienne heard a crock being opened and then the soft _glop_ of soap being removed. Seconds later, there was a squelching as Joenna rubbed soap through her hands and placed them on Brienne's head and not only began to wash Brienne's hair, but her slight, nimble fingers actually _massaged _Brienne's scalp. "Oh my—this is _heavenly_," Brienne sighed.

"Thank you, my lady," Joenna smiled. Her hands moved down to rub Brienne's neck and shoulders, and back up again across her temples, jaw, and behind her ears.

"Oh—oh my…" Brienne murmured. She was surprised how tightly she'd been tensing her muscles in her neck, head, and shoulders. It was amazing how painful certain spots were, as Jenna's fingers discovered and tried to work out knots and attend to pressure points.

"Try to relax, my lady," Joenna encouraged. "You work as hard as a man—harder than most, even. You ask a lot of your body. I've much work to do here."

"Mmmm," Brienne murmured again. "Women work hard, too. I imagine tending babies and doing housework are no easier on the body than swinging a sword."

Joenna laughed. "Aye, women have the worst of it in this life, no matter what work they do." She scooped up more soap and applied it to Brienne's scalp, rubbing vigorously.

The strong, sweet scent of roses permeated the air from both the petals in the water and the soft soap. Brienne inhaled slowly. "Lovely, isn't it, my lady?" Joenna read Brienne's mind. "I make this soap myself," she continued proudly. "My mother taught me. My father plucked her from Highgarden when she was just a girl."

XOXOXOX

Brienne had hated roses for most of her life. The rose cast in her face by Red Ronnet Connington had forever associated the traditional token of love with humiliation and rejection. "That ends now," Jaime had declared, nostrils flaring, when she had related that story one night after several glasses of watered wine. "You just need a new experience with the flower—you need a powerful replacement. Nothing should ever make you feel less than the true beauty that you are again."

Brienne had grimaced. "I am no beauty, Jaime. Don't mock me please. I get tired of pretending those kinds of remarks don't bother me, and I don't want to pretend with you."

"Ah my love, will you never believe that I find you beautiful? Surely, you have learned that physical beauty so often encompasses a vile spirit, and that the ugliest of visages can encase the loveliest of souls? It is our actions that make us appear ugly, Brienne, and it is also our actions that render us resplendent." Brienne shook her head slightly and cast down her eyes. "Look at _me_, my love. I have been praised my whole life for physical beauty, but by how am I referred? Ser Jaime the Handsome and Just? Ser Jaime the Fair-Faced and Good-Hearted? Nay. I have been the _Kingslayer_. I _am_ the Kingslayer. Forever. _Forever_. Because of one misunderstood albeit traditionally heinous act. I cannot ever erase that. I don't know that I deserve to, and I'm not sure that I even want to, but I doubt that even if I did, I don't think I _could_ erase it. Even if it was understood why I killed the Mad King, the Gods know that I have committed enough separate despicable acts to deserve a condemned title. Even my new sobriquet, _Golden Hand_, diminishes my entire self to a single flaw."

"Now you are the one who needs a more positive outlook, Jaime," Brienne had admonished, taking up his golden hand and kissing the wrist to which it was bound. "_Kingslayer_ and _Golden Hand_ are not doomed titles—they can indeed be names of which you can be proud. You slew a king to save thousands of innocent people—men, women, children, babies!—highborn and smallfolk—from a cruel death. You lost your hand, yes, but with it your hubris, and the loss has allowed you to gain perspective on and inspiration toward the kind of man and knight you want to be. You can still fill your page in the White Book with the very best deeds and kept oaths. You already have begun to do so. You cannot help but that others will one day see what _I_ see in you. You are the very best of men, simply because you strive to do better, to be better—and you are succeeding." She then had raised up in her chair, leant over the table, and kissed him on the mouth.

Jaime had wound his fingers into her fine, lengthening hair. "See, my love? Take your own advice—you are Brienne the_ Beauty_ indeed—your spirit continually earns that title. Others cannot help but one day see what _I_ see in _you_. To know you, my lady, is to see your spirit, and to love the unique package in which it is housed. The Gods must have realized that they had to create a very special casing for such a soul as yours—they must have fought very, very hard to decide how to shape you. The Father imbued you with a relentless, unwavering drive to always do what is right and just; the Smith made it possible for you to keep the most difficult of oaths, to complete the most challenging tasks. And yet, you are so very deliciously feminine—you are nurturing like the Mother, innocent like the Maiden, and intelligent like the Crone. And the Warrior—the Warrior, well—he must have seen the strength of the soul the others created, and he must have known to cloak it in a body that would be able to accept the weighty gifts from the others, a body that would enable you to be independent and to stand for those who cannot stand for themselves."

"Jaime," Brienne had begun softly. She then cleared her throat. "Jaime…by the Seven, that is the most serious train of thought I have ever heard you express."

He had grinned. "I know, right? I think I have met quorum for complex contemplation for at least a decade."

"That, or you're just trying to flatter me out of my breeches."

"I'm hurt, my love, truly. As if I would need flattery. If I want your breeches off, all I need to do is lower my voice in a certain way…and look at you like thus…" Brienne had lunged across the table with a murderous glint in her eyes, but Jaime quickly had pushed back his chair out of her reach. He had then picked up the flagon of wine and had poured more into both of their glasses, pushing Brienne's toward her, a little red sloshing over the lip of the glass. He had sipped his loudly and appreciatively. "Now, my feisty wench, back to the topic of roses—"

From then on, Jaime had committed himself to replace Brienne's negative association with roses with positive ones, ones that would remind her of her golden knight and his deep love for her, not of the vulgar ingrate from her past. Brienne would find roses of all colors everywhere—only the Gods knew how and from where he procured the sheer diversity and number. There were soft peach varieties on her breakfast plate, then pale pink on her washstand, iceberg white woven into the hem of her cloak, purple-and-ivory twined in her horse's mane and tail, butter yellow stuck in her scabbard, chartreuse in between the covers of her books, sunset orange on her supper table. Dozens of tiny fuchsia rosebuds adorned her bedchamber at night. Brienne had blushed one night to discover deep violet petals scattered between the folds of her clean smallclothes in her linen chest.

But the early dawn Brienne had awoken to Jaime trailing a large crimson bloom down her neck, over her breasts and belly, and between her thighs, Jaime's lustful gaze and naked form softly lit with the pale sunlight peeking through the open window, Brienne had sighed, but not with sadness or regret. "Do you yield, my lady?" he had whispered huskily.

"Oh yes, my lord. I do so yield."

"Thank the Gods," Jaime had grinned. "people were beginning to call _me_ the Knight of Flowers." Brienne had then twined her arms around his neck, bringing him down to her, and Jaime had made love to Brienne slowly and sweetly, and Brienne never again saw or smelled roses and thought of anyone or anything but her Jaime.

XOXOXOX

"The water is cooling, my lady," Joenna said, carefully rinsing Brienne's hair. "It's time for you to step out."

Brienne smiled softly. "Yes, all right, Joenna." The maid brought her a very large cotton sheet within which to wrap herself, and then stood on the stool to pat dry the large lady-knight's hair.

Brienne made to move back to her bedchamber to don fresh clothing, but Joenna stopped her. "Not yet, my lady. You don't need garments for what's coming next."


	3. Chapter 3: Of Good Boys and Filthy Words

**Chapter 3: Of Good Boys and Filthy Words**

"Uuuuuuhhhhhnnnnnnmmmmmfff…" Jaime Lannister groaned in a mixture of pain and pleasure, as the beefy-armed block of a maidservant dragged her massive elbow deep and then deeper into the triangles of his shoulder blades. "Fuck, woman! That hurts!"

Jaime yelped as the back of his head was smacked. "You'll not be talking to me with words like that, Master Jaime! I've known ye far too long."

"My apologies, my dear Glenna," Jaime lifted his head to flash the older woman a wide grin while rubbing the back of his head. "Thank you for reminding me of my manners."

"And here I thought that your lady had cured you of those nasty habits—or do you speak to her in that filthy way, too?"

"Alas, my Glenna! As much as I love the Lady Brienne, there are habits that I have that even _she_ cannot break—at least, she hasn't yet."

"Aye, well, ye better watch yourself. Highborn ladies 'specially don't take kindly to filthy words—I imagine that the Lady of Tarth is no different—even though she's…another sort of highborn lady."

"Yes, she is, Glenna—and that's one of the many reasons why I love her." Jaime's voice muffled as he replaced his head among the pillows, Glenna moving on to tackle different muscles in his back. "Although—there _is_ a particular time and place when my lady doesn't mind _at all_ when I use 'filthy words'—in fact, then she quite _enjoys_ them—ow!"

Glenna dug her meaty fingers hard into the sore muscles in Jaime's hips at that comment. "Master Jaime, you—"

"Calm yourself, Glenna! I jest—don't murder me, please."

Glenna sighed. "You are just plain awful, Master Jaime. Truly,"

"But that's why you love me, my Glenna! That's why all the ladies do—even the Lady Brienne." Jaime raised his head again, smiling.

"Put yer great big head back down so's I can finish, Master Jaime, or Lady Brienne will be waiting for your sorry self, and it's _her _day, ye said."

"Too right, Glenna my dear. Again, my apologies. I'll be a good boy."

Glenna harrumphed at that, and began punching and kneading various spots on Jaime's back.

Jaime grew drowsy in spite of the vigorous treatment. Brienne always gave him such a workout both indoors (he smiled inwardly at this) and out that it felt delicious to have his knots and soreness attended to. He knew Brienne would do it for him, if he asked, but he hated to ask her—even though he usually grabbed any opportunity to get her to touch him. It felt so selfish to ask, and she worked so hard anyway, he didn't want her to do any more chores than necessary.

"What is my lady doing now, Glenna? She must be finished with her bath. Has Joenna begun her massage?" Jaime allowed images of an oily, naked Brienne to float around in his brain. He wondered if Brienne was making noises during the massage, and if so, what kind, or if she stayed quiet, like she did sometimes when they took their time and made love slowly. He hoped she liked the rose-scented oils he'd procured for her. His cock twitched at thoughts of what her white, softly freckled skin looked like covered in glistening, sweet-smelling oil; what her small, firm breasts might look like and feel like and _taste_ like with the oil coating them; if her nipples were even right now as hard as dragonglass; if any of that oil had found its way between her breasts, down her hard, flat, delicious torso; if it was slowly oozing between her legs and over the sweet, soft, swollen, intimate flesh there; what it might be like to slide his oiled body over hers, into hers—

"Ach, yes, Joenna finished long ago."

"What?!" Jaime's head shot up. "How long have I been in here? Where is Brienne? Is she waiting for me?"

Glenna stopped her battering of Jaime's shoulders. "What do you mean, Master Jaime? How long did you want your lady to soak in that tub? Do ye want her all pruny?"

"Of course not!—I'm not talking about the _bath_, Glenna!—the massage! _Her_ massage—is it over?" Jaime struggled to sit up.

"Now relax yerself, Master Jaime! The Lady Brienne is still having her massage—you said you wanted her to have an extra-long one."

"But you said that Joenna was finished—"

"Aye, I did. Joenna is finished with the lady's bath."

"Isn't Joenna also giving Lady Brienne her massage?"

"Ach, no, Master Jaime! Your lady's too strong a one for Joenna to do a full massage on her. I had to get Joryn."

"WHAT?!"

"What's the matter wi' ye, Master Jaime! The Lady Brienne needs a _man_ to give her a good massage, that's all, so—"

"Joryn?! Your son, Joryn?" Jamie was flushing purple, snatching up the sheet to cover himself before he jumped from the table.

"Aye, Master Jaime, my son, Joryn. What's wrong with my Joryn? He's a good, strong boy—"

Jaime groaned. "Yes, Glenna, Joryn's a 'good, strong boy'—he's also devilishly handsome and at least four inches taller than me—which makes him—"

"—perfect to _massage_ the Lady Brienne," Glenna finished, "and naught else. Get yer mind out of the chamber pot, Master Jaime. Joryn's not about to steal your lady. His heart is promised elsewhere, and even if it warn't, your lady doesn't look at anyone else but you—and I daresay that the Lady Brienne can handle herself with green, rutting boys—which my Joryn is _not_!" Glenna's eyes snapped to punctuate Joryn's honest character.

"Perhaps—of course," Jaime sighed, settling back down. "Yet, it's a bit difficult to think of my lady having some other man's hands all over her naked body, even as we _speak_—"

"You worry for naught, Master Jaime, and it's good that ye're a bit jealous—that means you truly love the Lady Brienne."

"That I do, Glenna, that I do."

"Now roll over, Master Jaime. Let's finish you up and get you back to your lady."

**A/N: Thank you to everyone who has taken the time to read my little story—from other countries, no less! how wonderful!—and a very special thank you to those who have taken the time to write a response/follow me/favorite me! I am delighted! Thank you to my guest reviewers—how lovely of you all—I'm so sorry I can't thank you personally. If you took the time to read this—PLEASE take just a moment more to send me a word or two (it doesn't have to be much) to tell me what you thought (unless you just plain ol' hated it and think I suck. In that case, maybe just move on. Fragile writer's ego, you know!)! Can't wait for **_**Game of Thrones**_** Season 4…**


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